A Cold Grave
by Cards and Castles
Summary: In which the Lord Warden metaphorically "bleeds from a thousand cuts" in an attempt to show the world that she doesn't believe it's as ungrateful as it has been; what it takes to know the true meaning of sacrifice. Rated M [Swearing, alcohol, eventual/implied LeMoNs (F/F)].


**cough**

* * *

 _Several years after the Great War, 3 ~ Month of Grain_

Holden Cross had never met such a patient, attentive woman. Never, in all his years. Mercy came relatively close, but was incredibly lacking in the sense of consideration (without falsehood, of course). She sat, upon the wooden throne (steel or stone wouldn't do- too cold she says!) in her honor- silver metal reflecting the orange sputtering of the torchlight within the mass chamber. Legs spread just slightly, back straight, with her arms laying over the rests, looking down at the frail serf before her. Dark blonde hair loosely tied back in a fitting braid, the front of her hair framing her strong jaw and casting some small shadow over her already grim features. Blue eyes focused. Widened just a tad bit more than they should be, as she always did when it thought, thumb brushing the side of her index finger briefly.

The serf, wasn't impressive by any standard. A farmer of Westlake, which was not too far off from Beaufort's main city. One of the major farming towns due to its proximity to fresh water. Still, the man was somewhat stained with dirt, and his clothing a bit tattered. It was almost an insult, though the Lord had offered him a bucket of water to clean his face off. Holden focused more intently on the conversation at hand upon hearing her grave voice.

"The farmers of Westlake- no, of Ashfeld, are of critical importance. While I understand your concerns, an excessive wolf population hardly warrants the use of a dozen soldiers. Not to mention that the wolves are more likely interested in the cattle of the ranchers, more than the wheat of your farms." She paused for a moment, rubbing her hands together as she narrowed her eyes a bit,"This is a rather small claim that could have been handled by Westlake's local guard. Why have you brought this to me?"

The serf cleared his throat, speaking a bit more clearly now that he thought the Lord was much less likely to strike him where he stood,"W-Well, that's just the thing, my Lord. I _did_ report to the guards! But every time they came to route the wolves, the bloody beasts ran off before they could get there!" He exclaimed, honest irritation in his expression.

The Lord Warden was polite enough not to smile. Holden, however, was not, and could not prevent the corner of his mouth from lifting in a smirk.

"I see. Farmer Erik, you must forgive the local guard. Westlake is one of our larger construction projects. They are very worn on keeping the brigands out of the sites, away from homes, and presumably taking care of more pressing matters than your wolf issue. Take no offense, as I am not doubting the credit of your _word_. For surely, you would not lie to me." She spoke, softly at that, never moving her gaze away from the peasant farmer.

Holden watched the man straighten up a bit with that rustic Ashfeld pride, bringing his chin up just a tad and speaking with the first firm words he had since the meeting begun.

"My word upon my family, my good Lord."

She watched him for all of three seconds before her face split into a smile of warmth and she raised both her hands just slightly,"A man of his word should be honored, that much is certain. While I cannot justify sending a great many of 'proper' guards to your aide, I can, however, offer you a deal that may solve both of our problems. You see, soldiers are trained here, in the stronghold. A massive one, at that, but.. Not large enough to support the growing number of hamlets within Westlake. And the barracks stationed there are, eh.."

Holden spoke as his Lord looked over to him with her head slightly inclined, brow arched in question.

"Not big enough. The guard still accepts recruits, and because of the concordat.. More individuals are being accepted. The last requisition from Westlake was for more bedding. Expansion means more area covered- not just for people, but for protection as well."

She turned her gaze back to Erik, nodding in agreement,"Not big enough. Your property, as you say, is just on the outskirts of Westlake, which gives us _plenty_ of room to make more barracks and possibly expand from there. Of course, this is still allocated farmland, so the building will look much like a large stable. We just need somewhere to put and train these recruits until we can tear down the old barracks _in_ Westlake to make new ones. In payment for allowing us to use a portion of your land- granted to you by the service of Jonas the Readymade during the War- we will pay you a modest sum of coin. You can also keep the building when we're done with it, for however long that takes. What you do with it afterwards is entirely your choice. That is, assuming you agree to these terms. We'll hold the building for.. A four year period, at the least? These things take time."

Erik blinked for a moment, wide eyed and quite struck. So much as to kneel before the Lord Warden and incline his head.

"Of course Lord Warden! That's- that's an excellent offer. My family would be honored- and, daresay Jonas, too.. Thank you, my lord. On behalf of the Borlin family, _thank you_."

"Your service has been noted. My Judicator, Holden Cross, shall draw the papers for you in some time. Expect them by courier in the next week or so."

Holden nodded in acknowledgement, stretching an arm across the dark green tunic with golden embroidery he wore.

"I'll make the arrangements as soon as possible, my Lord. Wou-"

All heads in the room shot towards the stone archway where two mahogany, polished doors remained closed off. It was the smaller inlet door in the corner that had burst open, revealing the green and blue colors of Westlake itself, bearing the symbol of its local guard. The golden shine seeming heavenly when reflected to the torches (though, the individual himself was anything but). A man, with shoulder length black hair and a well kept shadow of hair across his handsome face had barged in, brown eyes adjusting to the dimmer atmosphere.

Holden watched as the man's eyes lit up as they laid upon the Lord Warden. And likewise, of course, for the best of friends were always so well greeted with insult. Forgetting she was in the middle of court, Holden's liegelord burst up from her throne with renewed vigor, stepping down the steps from it and towards the man- voice booming across the tapestry slung amongst the stone walls.

"Stone, you bloody bastard- I'm in the middle of an _audience!_ " She smiled widely. Holden rolled his eyes.

Stone approached his Lord and they clasped forearms, before embracing one another tightly. Amidst patting backs and the hug of strength, he spoke,"E'yea. That's why I'm here. Why else would I trek across the damned plains to this eyesore? I left a day before the caravan that got here, but ran into trouble on the way here.. Had everything under control, though. I was-"

A lithe figure seemed to snake through the smaller door, shutting it behind her. Brown hair cut short to the point of almost being boyish, angular face expressing a rather annoyed expression- which gave credit to her agitated tone,"-lying stuck under your horse, about to be cleaved into pieces by the brigands who had been following you for _miles_." Mercy gave a gentle nod to her Lord, of which was returned, before placing her hands behind her back to stride towards Holden. She briefly fixed the black cloak thrown about her shoulders, of which was sporting of a golden trim. Mercy looked up to him, towering over her- giving him one of those rare slight-smiles, before it was gone as soon as it came.

Stone released his Lord, giving only a grunt in response as the Lord Warden chuckled gently,"Ah. Never were a bright one, were you?"

He gave a much louder scoff, stomping over to the left longtable, which was just a few yards away from the right longtable, the yellow carpet of ancestral patterns separating both. Taking a silver pitcher off of it, Stone went to pour himself a drink and was sorely disappointed when he realized that dinner wasn't for another six hours; the servantry had yet to fill the pitchers of wine or prepare the feast.

"Bastards. The whole lot of you- having the six other Captains and I march across Ashfeld for some glorified party. And you don't even have the wine prepared! Ech!"

The Lord Warden shrugged, unaffected by the affront- Erik seemed astonished by such. The gall of this man..!

"It's necessary, Stone. Everyone has to be in attendance. I'm hardly going to serve lukewarm spirits to my guests of honor, either. Or a cold dinner, though I'd suspect few of them are used to it.." She hummed before returning her attention to Erik. With a nod of her head to the door, she addressed him,"You may leave. Safe travels to you, Erik Borlin."

Stone watched Erik take his leave, the farmer quick to not be caught in the former Conqueror's gaze. When the door had opened and closed once more, he huffed slightly,"Man who cried wolves, if I remember correctly.."

"Aye, that he did. The problem is solved- a page will pass you a copy of the happenings when Holden's finished drawing them up. Let's not talk about that now, though. Or today, actually. Council's dismissed!"

Holden gave a nod at that. As did Mercy, the two of them taking their leave together out of the east halls, which lead to both the living quarters for officials and the war table- though it had been scarcely used for such purpose other than to map the whole of Ashfeld. They walked side by side in silence- him with his head tilted down, watching his steps. Her, with her chin tilted up, hands behind her back. They reached the end of the hall, having passed the servant's quarters. They stepped up the spiral staircase to the second landing and eventually found themselves stepping into his chamber.

Well, stepping was a much, much better term for what they were actually doing. She had turned towards him in the hallway, prepared to speak before he knelt a bit to her height, crushing his lips to her own. She responded in kind, lifting up and stepping back in a graceful stumble (as much as a stumble could be, anyway). They blew through the door, his foot catching it with a kick to slam it shut on its hinges. Light poured in from the checkered window, though only partial on account of the drapes covering it. He pushed her onto the furs and comfort of his bed.

"Apologies for being late. Stone had actually gotten himself in a deal of trouble making his w-" Mercy was abruptly cut off by lips upon her's again- the smoldering kiss causing her legs to draw together as her senses were.. Well. Alert. "Oh- I see- someone missed me, hm?"

Holden gave a deep huff at such, tossing away the black cloak about his lover's shoulders as he let his weight push her down onto the softness of the fur below them. Her hands deftly worked at the ties of his tunic, as he brought her close.

"More than you'd know, my rose."

"You're _unbearable_."

He laughed gently against her neck, the deep timbre of his voice a wave of warmth across the pale skin,"I know."

* * *

Stone walked alongside his best of friends. Rather, one of the only friends he had- true, through and through. He wasn't anti-social by any means, and in fact, enjoyed much time with his fellow guardsmen. However, there was only so far one could go in a relationship between soldier and commander. But that'd mean she'd keep him at a distance, if that logic applied. You know what?

Who cares?

They walked through the stronghold until they exited via the front gate. They were still dressed in their honors, though her's had the coloring of two different shades of blue, but both dark in color. His own was that of Westlake, and given their rather colorful clothing, were drawing much attention from the local masses. It was rather annoying to be quite honest. People kept crowding around in the roads, wanting to shake and kiss the hand of their Lord Warden, and he oft had to push them back or keep them at a distance. It didn't help that she stopped to converse with what felt like each one for a short few seconds.

"Alright, I get it. You love them and they love you. Can we _get on with it_?" Stone grunted.

"There's importance in meeting people. It puts a little human in the name, instead of simply 'Lord Warden'. Though, I admit, it does have a pleasant ring to it." She chuckled amidst a crowd of touching hands and waggling tongues.

Eventually, they made it through the Main Road and into De'dr Keep- a secondary stronghold, much smaller than Beaufort Castle, serving as a barracks for the city guard. Of course, they had satellite barracks spread over the separate districts, but they all had their training done within De'dr. And it was much, much more calm here. Stone sat with her in the garden of roses, tulips, and lavender stalks at a stone table, sipping from a large tankard the keeper of said garden gave to him, filled with somewhat stale ale.

"When do you think they'll be here?" He asked vaguely, leaning back in the wrought iron seat with horrid posture. Once a rogue, always a rogue, he supposed. Well. Sort of. His current position was rather ironic, given his past occupations.

"If my assumptions are right, most likely three hours _before_ the dinner bell. But if I'm wrong, perhaps on time. But never, ever late. I think we've that much respect for one another." The Lord Warden mused, leaning on the table with her hands clasped together.

"You sure about that? I know we signed that Concordat and all, and everything's been pretty peachy since then, but.."

"But?"

He tilted his head just slightly, face forming a grimace as he spoke,"Countless years of death and bloodshed aren't just erased by a few sheets of paper with a bunch of names on it."

"This is true.. But you already know we've decided on other ways to spit our aggression out. Like this tournament we're having the day after tomorrow- after the soiree." She hummed, leaning back in her seat to stretch her arms, metal clinking as she did.

"Oho. Think he'll be there?" He asked, his smirk all knowing. Not so lordly after all, eh?

"I hope so. The Empress confirmed that the Champion was indeed going and agreed to my challenge." The Warden shrugged, cracking her knuckles beneath her gauntlets briefly, frowning just a tad.

"Sounds like you're ready for this fight. He did a number on you, all those years ago, if I remember correctly." He nodded, raising his cup to take another long sip of his drink.

"Aye, that he did. But I was young, then. Brash! Chivalrous, beyond the point of reason.. I succumbed to many heady rushes in the act of battle. That oft allowed me to overcome adversity, but that was usually when battling the people of Valkenheim, so the nature of my style wasn't as punished as it ought to be. That's, not a bash on them either. But seeing as they don't wear much in the way of armor, it.. It really doesn't go well for them."

"You still are. _Brash_ that is. Stubborn wench."

The Lord Warden gave a small laugh, chuckling along with him as she nodded somewhat,"Yes, maybe I am.. But I have learned much since then. I'm allowed to have some small vices. This isn't _quite_ revenge, but every time the Chosen are invited, I can _feel_ the whispers from the servantry- even our own soldiers. 'Is that the Champion who beat the Lord Warden?' Pride is a dangerous road, that leads to extremities better left undiscovered. However, I can also compare it to an _itch._ A very, very annoying itch that will never cease unless I complete the task of scratching it. With a wooden sword. Into the dirt."

Stone guffawed loudly, waving his hand,"Oh, bullshit Laddai. You're going to get creamed again, I can already feel it. That Orochi is _Champion_ for a reason."

"And I am a _Lord_ for a reason. I'm not concerned about titles, or even skill. I was humiliated that day, Stone. What if that defeat had demoralized the men and cast second thoughts for the infant, reborn Iron Legion? But worry not. If I lose again, I will be assured that there is indeed, someone better. Rather than applying it to chance, fluke, or fate. This is forced by the hand of none and I am not _that_ dense as to understand that there are others simply better.. I do feel that if I don't try, then I'd be giving my forfeit."

"We'll see, I guess.. I know you've been picking up a few things since we've established the order of things. We ought to have a go, you and I." He smirked, arching one of his brows as Laddai visibly scoffed.

"Oh no. I'm not going to be on the receiving end of _that_ shield. No, sir."

"Don't be a baby- it can't be any worse than your shoulder."

"Stone, _a pauldron is nothing compared to a two inch thick tempered steel shield_. That has the speed of _stars_. And makes you see them, too!"

He guffawed loudly at that, causing her to join with a small chuckle. They clanked their tankards together.

"To my brother." She stated, boldly, with all the seriousness she could. When was the last time Stone _truly_ felt like he had family?

"To my sister. And, maybe Ashfeld too, I guess."

They drank to the shining sun and blue sky that was peppered with puffy white clouds.


End file.
